Ling and Jiao both reached out and hugged him tightly. His cheeks flushed at the unexpected display of affection. He patted them awkwardly on their backs and then said, “Okay, stand back and shut this door behind me.”
He raised the M4 and then pressed the red button next to the bunker’s entrance. Gears whirred and the seal of the door popped as the hatch slid open. He moved into the hallway and turned back to the kids. Fear and doubt were etched onto their faces. He gave them a thumbs up and a nod. Ling reached out and pressed the button. He stood there and watched until the door was completely closed. Then he set off toward the rendezvous point.
The staging area had been set up within some type of warehouse surrounded on all sides by a high chain-link fence. During the journey, he had tried to move invisibly from cover to cover, but there was no way to avoid being completely exposed as he made his way to the warehouse. The ability to easily see an attack coming was likely one of the reasons that the Delta team commander had chosen the spot.
He scanned the surrounding buildings for a few moments, but he didn’t see any signs of enemy activity. Slinging the M4 over one shoulder, he took three deep breaths and braced himself. Then he took off in a dead sprint toward the tall fence.
He hit the fence with a jump and began to gracefully scale the barrier. Within a second, he was at the top. One arm shot over the peak, and his fingers grasped the other side. In one fluid motion, he flipped over and dropped to the ground. He hit the pavement of the warehouse’s parking lot in a roll and came up with his sidearm at the ready. The weapon’s aim followed his eyes as he scanned his surroundings for danger. Seeing no threats, he moved toward the warehouse.
The structure was a large, white block building with a green metal roof fronted by loading docks and tall garage doors designed for semi-trucks. A red and white realtor sign adorned the front window along with a sign detailing the features of the property. He hit the building’s wall next to the window and cautiously scanned the interior. The door was unlocked, and he pushed inside. The office space was vacant of everything except a large reception desk built into the wall.
He holstered his Beretta and unslung the M4 rifle. Then he moved down a hallway past a string of empty offices and men and women restrooms. At the end of the hall, he pushed through a door into the main section of the warehouse.
The smell of rotting meat assaulted him immediately. The buzzing of flies filled the space with a constant hum like the pulsing of a large generator. The warehouse had become a charnel house. Bodies of the soldiers were strewn everywhere. Some had been torn apart. Others had apparently been tossed across the room like rag dolls, their limbs twisted at strange angles, their mouths bent open in silent screams. Empty shell casings coated the floor, stuck in the congealing blood.
The sights, sounds and smells attacked his senses and overwhelmed him. He lost his breath and stumbled back into the hallway. His emotions and gut instinct told him to flee from this place as quickly as possible and never return, except maybe in his nightmares. But his training as an elite soldier told him to move forward and complete the mission. And without searching this room, he wouldn’t even know what the mission was.
He pushed back into the warehouse, trying to focus upon the task at hand and look at the scene objectively. He needed intel and equipment. The thought of any of these people still being alive was a near impossibility, but he decided to check each anyway. He moved through the room, checking each body first for a pulse and then for papers or gear.
One of the bodies, the remains of a woman, had long brown hair and a beautifully sculpted frame. He wondered if this was some type of civilian scientific or intelligence advisor. The lifeless form was lying face down against the pavement with the hair spread out concealing the woman’s features. If he had been forced to bet, this body would have been his pick as possessing useful intel.
He crouched over the woman, reached out, and grabbed hold of her right shoulder. Then he rolled her over onto her back.
As she turned over, her arm came up, and Knight found himself staring down the business end of a 9mm Sig Sauer pistol.
10.
With a speed born partially out of instinct and partially out of an intense training regiment, Knight slapped the gun away from his face just as it spit fire. A round shot past his head and clanged off the metal ceiling.
In one motion, he rolled away and pulled his own sidearm. His finger flew to the trigger, but he resisted the impulse to pull.
He recognized the face staring back at him.
The woman’s name was Anna Beck. She had been a member of the Gen-Y security force hired by Manifold Genetics, the company that had tried to harness the power of the Hydra. She had also been instrumental in the company’s downfall and had even earned herself the temporary callsign: Pawn, during the incident.